Don Bacho & Bedina Daagdo ... Page

The sun was barely kissing the peaks of the Caucasus when Don Bacho stood outside his stone hut, scratching his chin. He had a problem: a giant, ancient wooden wardrobe that had belonged to his grandmother. It was heavy, smelled of mothballs and history, and needed to go to the village at the bottom of the valley.

Bedina, who had spotted a wild blackberry bush and was currently occupied with a handful of fruit, replied with his mouth full, "It’s fine, Bacho! I’ve got it!" DON BACHO & BEDINA daagdo ...

Bacho, realizing the wardrobe was now a projectile, dove into the mud. The wardrobe didn't just fall; it soared. It hit the rocks below with a sound like a thunderclap, exploding into a thousand splinters of oak and antique dust. The sun was barely kissing the peaks of

Bedina looked at the tumbling wooden mountain, looked at his blackberries, and then looked at the steep 200-foot drop to the river below. He calmly stepped aside. "Bacho!" Bedina yelled. (Drop it/Let it go!) Bedina, who had spotted a wild blackberry bush